She Remembers
by charlies-anomoly
Summary: The events following Margaret’s death, from her point of view


**She Remembers**

**Summary: **The events following Margaret's death, from her point of view.

**A/N: **Don't even ask where this came from, I have no idea. My wish for a change of direction, I suppose. Enjoy. R&r

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**She Remembers**

She remembers the faces of her eldest, and her dear husband, as her eyes fell closed for the last time. Sad realisation and at the same time bittersweet relief swept across their expressions, and Alan had shifted closer, running a hand brokenly through her hair, whilst Don bowed his head. Tears had slipped silently from her son's eyes, and his hands had crept up to mask his pale, puffy face.

Alan had not left her bedside that night; She remembers watching as he ran his familiar, calloused fingers through her hair, years sliding peacefully down his cheeks, as he said his final farewell. At times a calm smile graced his face; a gesture utterly heartbroken and filled with remorse, and alternately happy, glad perhaps that she was finally at rest.

Don had left her side after a time, quietly, embracing his father warmly before making his way home, face determined. She remembers his anger, as he drove, directed wholly at his brother. He had muttered to himself, tears returning unheeded to his fiery eyes, fists striking at the wheel several times. Unable to intervene, she remembers watching as he stormed out of the car, and walked purposely towards the shed.

Unbeknownst to Don, she had also watched Charlie. Watched him scribbling furiously at his chalkboards, a thin cloud of white dust settling upon his hair and jumper, speckling his already pale face. Accentuating blood shot, sore eyes. She remembers the jump he made, when the phone rang. Nothing ever distracted him from his math, but this time it did. Maybe he already knew. She watched him answer the cell, and watched the expression fill his face; from the tightness of his mouth to the depths of his eyes. Similar to those of Don and Alan's, in their grief, but different in the terrible addition of unfounded guilt.

She remembers watching him silently flip the phone closed, and drop it lightly to the ground, glassy eyes surveying the chalkboards briefly, before he succumbed. Before he lost it, and kicked out at the nearest thing; watching as the pottery shattered into countless pieces. Ignoring the blood that blossomed from cuts in his unprotected feet, he had practically rampaged; destroying not only the pots, but also his boards, the chalk, all his work. Harming himself not only physically, not that he noticed. Perhaps subconsciously aware that his big brother would come, to save him.

And when he did. When Don reached the open door of the shed, and found his brother in the midst of his breakdown, she remembers the expression on his face. The instant dissolving of any previous anger, and the immediate switch to concern and surprise. She keenly felt the flash of heartache her son experienced, and could only watch as the scene progressed; Don crossing to his brother and forcing him to stop – stop hurting himself, and just breathe. At length she remembers seeing them both fall to their knees, and she remembers her heart swelling as Don cradled a sobbing Charlie against his chest, no longer fighting to control his own tears.

One month later, she watched them again. She remembers that things had calmed down, but deep-rooted emotions from that night had not mellowed.

Alan sat on the edge of their bed, shining eyes held effortlessly by the photograph held in his hands, depicting a much younger couple, on their wedding day. Her long tresses flowing, his expression beaming. She remembers the acknowledgement in his soft smile; the date, the time. One month exactly. She saw him shed a tear, and allow it to fall unheeded, but he mainly smiled, reminiscing. He had said his goodbye, one month earlier. He knew her love for her was plain.

She remembers Don giving a double take as he walked past the calendar in the office. Still working late hours, the building had been practically deserted save for her eldest, and Terry, still hard at work. His eyes had widened only slightly, and as he looked away she saw the sudden moisture, the shine. She remembers the soft, bittersweet smile he affected when Terry noticed his pause, asked what was wrong. He just shook his head and glanced over at his desk, at a family picture from several years ago, at Christmas. 'Time flies', he had responded quietly, running a hand through his hair, and forcing himself to return to his work.

She remembers finding Charlie lying on his stomach on his bed, chin resting on his folded arms, in a rare period of motionlessness. Staring silently across the room at a photo of herself and her youngest, when he really was young. A mere child, wild mop of chocolate curls framing his enthused face, clinging to his mother affectionately. Tears had flown freely down his cheeks, dampening his shirtsleeves and the blanket beneath. She could still see the haunted, guilt-ridden look in his eyes, and was helpless to stop it. She remembers willing Alan to come and check on him, and fix it. But also remembers knowing that was something only Charlie could do. Or perhaps his brother.

A year to _the_ day, she returns to find her family all together, in the one place. Alan in his chair, the soft armchair closest to the television. Champagne glass in hand, bright eyes on their eldest, as he cheerfully relates events from his day at work, sipping from a much less refined but obviously more appealing bottle of beer. The television has been playing, but neither pay it any heed, their focus plainly honed in on the youngest, curled up asleep at his brother's side. Don tousles his hair affectionately as Charlie leans against his shoulder, smiling gently as he quietly tells his father how well the mathematician is doing, regarding his involvement with the FBI. How close they have become of late, and how Don himself has not been at such a contented part of his life for a long time.

Alan, she notes, is glowing himself; Not at all forgetful, but immensely proud and joyous at the renewed relationship between his boys, and content to remember his long, wonderful years with her; the time they spent raising Don and Charlie.

Don misses her; she can tell by the certain look in his eyes, but knows he has moved on. Adjusted. Accepted. She can see by how he eyes Charlie with a grin, as his father jokes about them, that any trace of his initial anger, all those months ago, has vanished, without a trace. He understands now, as she did.

Charlie, she knows, has come a long way. Working with his brother has only strengthened their relationship, given them both something to work with, as it were. He's become more confident as a person, slowly forgetting his early, tormented years as he is welcomed by both the CalSci community, and that of Don's team.

By the way his relaxed position at his big brother's side transcends to his expression; eyes lightly shut, a small, contented smile gracing his lips. By his expression, she knows that he is going to be all right. He has forgiven himself for the most part, understanding now. She knows he too, like Alan and Don, has found peace with her absence, her loss. Adjusted.

Accepted, more to the point.

Smiling fondly to herself, she moves on, content to see her boys… her men, truly part of a family again. Previously frayed relationships now healed, and strengthening. Previously introverted temperaments becoming assertive, playful, happy. Resentful and angry feelings adjusting, and forgiving, accepting, loving.

She remembers.

**The end. **


End file.
